Keep Sleeping
by Mina3
Summary: Stephanie & Leticia split perspective on Majic's letters and prayers for some things to never wake.


Keep Sleeping  
By Mina

Standard disclaimers for _Majutsushi Orphen: Revenge_ apply. Own coffee, own computer, own candle…pay bills, barely have spending money for gum…nope, don't own series, only fic plot. 

**Warnings:** Shounen ai, transgender confusion, some swearing, angst, introspection, and furtherance into "minor" characters. Sequel to 'Family - Take Two' and 'Tegami,' but occurring sometime between 'Family - Take Two' and 'Quiet Time,' which will be the sequel fic to this. Slightly confusing, sorry! 

**A/N:** A split perspective fic, beginning with Stephanie and ending with Leticia. 

Stephanie smiled as the spirit bird dissolved, leaving behind the letter it had delivered on the slightly cluttered desk she was sitting at. Tim was out for the day, working the flower shop late due to the upcoming Ueeredo Star Festival, which gave her plenty of time to read Majic's letter and think of what he had to say. 

An hour later, she put the letter down, pulling her glasses from her face and rubbing wearily at her eyes. She looked out the window, at the noon-high sun that spread light all over the cobbled streets and whitewashed buildings of Alenhaten. 

Majic seemed to have an uncanny ability to wind up in troubling situations. Actually, it was more likely that Orphen was the one to wind up in the troubling situations, but where one was, the other would be found. 

More Tenjin ruins . . . ruins that the Tower of Fangs knew about but had been able to do little to protect. Was the Tower's influence so low lately, or were their numbers just dwindling as she had once feared would happen? 

Answers were hard to find in Majic's letters, no matter how detailed they were. Majic . . . . She smiled, looking back to the letter, written in an adorable mix of runes and common. The boy who had awoken the dead portion of her soul that was Stephan, the boy who had unwittingly managed to awake the spark of her dead magic once more. 

She glanced down at her hands, the carefully painted green fingernails. The gilt in the polish sparkled like emeralds in the sunlight. No . . . not quite emeralds. Aquamarine. 

Like Majic's lovely eyes. 

She'd wondered, at first, when the magic had first begun to return, when she had felt it completely surge through her in the Room of Knowledge. She was an expert on the Tenjin and their ruins, after all . . . she knew the signs of the Tenjin. Green hair, green eyes, power equal to the Gods. But that wasn't really true, for it hadn't been the Tenjin with power equal to the Gods, no matter how much they tried to make that belief a reality. Ueeredo Dragon, the first Clan that split into six, eventually descending into the Tenjin and the Sorceri. Now _there_ was power to equal the Gods. 

Frowning, she muttered an incantation and laid a fingertip to her long-warm water, watching as ice crystals delicately flecked across the glass. Majic had done this to her. Majic, with whatever blood he possessed deep inside, with whatever secrets he contained that no one knew, had woken the magic that should be dead . . . the magic that had died with Stephan. 

She should hate Majic for that, really, she thought as a lone tear slid down her cheek. With Stephan the sorcerer dead, Tenjin Ruin and Rune expert Stephanie had been able to be born. The recklessness that had always been her downfall had been tempered, defeated, replaced by a desire to be selfless and gentle. And with the loss of magic came the dream of normalcy, of a chance for simple things like love and family, of growing old together and dying peacefully in the natural order of things. 

But things were never easy in that way for sorcerers. Her dreams of loving and living with Tim until their end together were shattered now. But she couldn't blame Majic. The boy had no idea what he had done, really; had no idea that he had awoken a part of Stephanie that she had hoped would sleep in peace forever. 

It would be easy to blame Majic for what had happened. But she loved the child too much for that, admired him too much for the trials and adversity he had overcome to reach the point he was at now. Whatever Majic Lyn was in truth didn't matter to her. 

All that mattered was that the boy kept dreaming, kept reaching, kept growing. He would be the most powerful sorcerer the Tower of Fangs had ever seen once he had managed full control of his power. She was certain of that. And Orphen would be by his side, always. She was equally certain of that, even though she'd had doubts in the beginning. But there was more than master and apprentice…so when the day came for them to accept each other as equals, it would be a very welcome day indeed. 

Where would she be on that day? Stephanie realized that her hands had begun to shake and quickly laced her fingers together, clutched tightly in her lap. Stephanie's dream of a normal life with Tim was fading from her grasp, and Stephan's dream of power and discoveries was returning. 

It was hard to contemplate, to grasp completely, but it was the only thought that made enough sense. Ueeredo Dragon. That was how Majic had woken the dead magic, revived it to life, into a raging fire larger than the torch flicker it had been before. Majic had the eyes . . . and once . . . in that moment in the Room of Knowledge . . . she swore she had seen the wheat blonde hair shimmer and fade to a shade of seafoam, the likes of which she had only seen in pictorial reference. 

Too many thoughts in her head, she thought with a faint growl, freeing her hands to grip the hair at her temples. Majic was special . . . special because he had made her realize that it was okay to be Stephan and Stephanie, made her realize that it was okay to be without magic, that she had other gifts as well. 

Too bad he couldn't be here now, when she needed the reassurance that everything would be okay once Tim realized that Stephanie wasn't aging as he was, that the light that danced in his eyes during their love making wasn't metaphorical stars but the aspect of her gift relishing a moment of intimacy. 

Rising from her chair and dashing the tears from her eyes, Stephanie quickly put her glasses back on and headed for the kitchen. She should get started on dinner, even if Tim would still be several hours coming home. It would give her hands something to do, give her something to occupy her mind with. 

Stephan itched within her head, wanting to use the recipes from the Room of Knowledge that had been memorized quicker than humanely possible before the room was cryogenically frozen. 

Stephanie gently pushed him aside, murmuring for him to sleep a little longer while she prepared a simple meal of beef roast and vegetables, pondering the merits of apple pie for dessert. 

_Keep sleeping, Stephan,_ she thought, a bittersweet smile crossing her face. _Until we're ready to face Majic again, please keep sleeping._

Leticia smiled at the spirit bird perched on her desk, putting the final flourish to her signature before handing a reply letter to it, feeding more energy so that it could make the return flight. The bird trilled, brushing its aether head against her fingers before flying out the window. 

Majic could be both an enigma and a darling bundle of open and naïve boy at times. This was one of those times when he was an interesting mix of both, she decided, still smiling. 

She already knew about the involvement of the magic constructs and the targeting of Krylancelo. The Elders had put her in charge of the case, after all. But Majic's insight, being on the other end of things, had put new thoughts into her head, thoughts that she would have to share with Hartia and Lai at some point. 

For now, though, she was content to simply sit at her desk and think. She glanced at the sparse items covering the desk: a snowglobe from Krylancelo years ago, with a landscape of their old home in Sio, a town that they both barely remembered; a stack of her students most recent papers; a stolen comic book, pilfered from Hartia due to the fact that he was supposed to be researching perennial youth magics, not reading comics; an old class picture that showed all of those she had once or still considered friends and family, Childmen-sensei, Azalea, Hartia, Lai, Krylancelo, Komikron, Flameheart, and herself; a more recent picture of Hartia with Erris and Majic; a picture of Cleao, Leki, Krylancelo, and Majic; and an old Promise Day card, from her favourite pupil. 

She frowned, focusing on the oldest picture. Komikron, dead because of his genius. At least, that was the official story. No one knew for sure what had caused his death, and the Elders had forbidden anyone to look too deeply into what had happened. That had been a year before the Baltanders Incident. Azalea, who had been forced to carry the soul of the man she had loved, to care for him now as her son instead of something more. Flameheart, brilliant and vivacious, who had allowed his spirit and mind to be controlled and conquered by the overbearing and evil woman who was his mother. 

A snarl formed at the corner of her mouth, her sienna eyes narrowing. Shastudeeji. Gods but she hated the woman! What she had done to Flameheart had been bad enough, but what she had done to Flamesoul was even worse. Flamesoul hadn't even been allowed to attend normal Tower classes like Flameheart had; the boy had grown up isolated, fawning on his twin and mother in a way that was sickening for more reasons than the obvious. How could a mother do that to her son? 

She hoped---and prayed---that wherever Azalea had escaped to, she'd learned from her mistakes, and wouldn't repeat Shastudeeji's. The Azalea that she remembered could be kind and cruel . . . and Leticia hoped that what had happened, after Krylancelo had nearly died to save both her and Childmen, that Azalea had let go of her cruelness to finally embrace the kindness she had kept buried for so long. 

There was a point that one reached in life when they began to reflect on things that they had done in the past, when they began to play the game of 'what if' and wonder what would happen if they changed what they did. Leticia knew that she wasn't the only person who indulged in such thoughts, but there were two instances that she constantly played that game with over the years. 

The first concerned her brother. She should have known, should have remembered . . . but they'd been so young when Sio had burned, when they'd been separated. Neither of them really had any memories of what exactly had happened, and by the time she'd reached Urban Lama and her new 'family,' she'd been told that her brother had died in the fire as well. And she had believed that lie, despite the fact that a part of her heart knew better, a part of her soul knew better. After all, if Krylancelo had been dead, wouldn't she have ended up the same as Flamesoul, locked in a world where her brother lived in her thoughts constantly? 

Instead, she had forgotten her brother, until meeting him again at the Tower of Fangs. But then it had been a futile hope, for all of his focus was on Azalea, the girl who had protected him and been like a sister to him during his years at the orphanage in Raindust. Unfair, she had thought. And she had hated Azalea for stealing her little brother, even if it had been her own choice to attempt to forget him. 

It helped ease the pain, somewhat, that Krylancelo seemed to have forgotten everything. She was able to maintain a teasing relationship with him, similar to his relationship with Azalea even if it wasn't as close as the relationship she remembered, the relationship she wanted. He was her other half, the one who would be the Successor to Razor's Edge once he was done with his sorceri training. 

Strange that it would be Azalea's final, cruel words to Krylancelo before she became the Bloody August, to tell Krylancelo that Leticia was his sister. There had been no tearful reunion, only a flurry of accusations and bitter tears, sharp words and clashing spells. Leticia loved her brother . . . but, at that moment, her brother couldn't love her. 

It had become better over the years; she'd watched him, protected him as best she could. She was the Tower's Scream of Death, after all, and while Krylancelo had renounced the Tower, the Tower had not renounced Krylancelo. 

That was her second 'what if.' She still wasn't sure what had prompted her to agree to the Inquisitor position at the Elders' behest. Perhaps it was the rage that had built up within her over the years, the death of her parents in a suspicious fire, the loss of her twin, the non-accepting nature of her foster family, the surprise and loss of Krylancelo once again . . . . Perhaps she had begun to enjoy her job, too, once she had lost Krylancelo, once her hatred of Azalea had blossomed from a candle flame to a blazing well of hatred. 

The Scream of Death, the Tower called her. She who commanded Voice in a way that few could, who could wring truths and terrors from those she interrogated, who could ease their pain with a simple word, long after their screams had left them hoarse. 

She had been afraid of Krylancelo finding out, of hating her further for what she had become . . . what she had become to _protect_ him. But he'd been accepting, joking even. And, really, how could she expect less from the brother who had endured the painful trials to master the Razor's Edge techniques? 

But then there had been Majic, the only other person to ever make her question the persona of the Scream of Death. Majic, so full of life and vitality, of untapped potential and a thirst for learning. Majic, who seemed guileless and innocent, yet knew of passion and the things he wanted in life. Majic, who was the perfect balance for her brother, and who she knew would one day grow to be his perfect partner as well. 

Her fear, though, was of something else. There was something dark in Majic, something that escaped rarely, something that she was certain he kept hidden inside so carefully that he didn't know it existed. It happened to everyone with strong sorceri blood…especially with those closest in blood to the Ueeredo. 

She hoped that darkness was never forced to come forth. She hoped that Majic's innocence would never have to be destroyed in the wake of whatever terrible tragedy it would take to break the chains holding that darkness in. 

It didn't do to dwell on such thoughts, though. Instead, she would think about the wonderful words Majic had written of their adventures, of Krylancelo's constant mishaps and Cleao's unintentional misadventures, of the new addition of young Lycoris, who intrigued her not only because of her potential connection to the case but because of the fact that she had almost become a friend to Majic---her young pupil, who was afraid of getting close to others. 

She gathered the letter in hand, and rose from her desk, dimming the lights of the room as she prepared to seek out Hartia and Lai. A last pause to look out the window, and she caught the stunning sweep of doves flying across the melding greens, blues, and apricots of the oncoming sunset. 

_Keep sleeping, you other Majic,_ she prayed. _Keep sleeping . . . and hope that you never see the light of day._


End file.
